My eighty-year old
Mother-in-law, now
Well past recalling
Anything that transpires
Over a minute after
It flashes before her,
And so
Thin and frail you can see her
Bones pressing against
Her flimsy night-
Gown still remains
Sharp enough to tell
The young
Doctor feeling her
Body for any
Tell-tale signs of
Imminent danger
To go to hell the moment
He brushes what now passes
As her breasts.
